Help For The Broken and The Weary
by staceycj
Summary: Post 7X02 and before 7X09.  Bobby seeks help for the Winchester brothers.
1. Chapter 1

AN: I know I know I know...so many stories, but this one was just bothering me. This will be a series of sessions involving the Wichester brothers. Sam will have his own sessions (Sam fans don't hurt me, I won't make him out to be the bad guy, I just have to get Dean set up first...you'll find out why when Sam comes in.) Takes place early in S7 post "Hello Cruel World" But before "How to Win Friends and Influence Monsters."

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><p>Session 1-Dean<p>

Dean Winchester stood by my window, strong arms crossed in a manner that showed his bicep muscles clearly under the long sleeve shirt he had rolled up to his elbows. He was facing the window, I was unable to see his face, only his tense posture, and slightly bow legs.

"You don't have to stand." I finally said getting comfortable on the chair I used for my daytime therapy sessions that had more to do with divorces and neurotic housewives than anything of substance.

"I ain't lying down on your couch doc. I'm only here because of a favor."

"Bobby Singer. He wanted you to come and see me."

"Yeah. I'm fine. I keep telling the old bastard I'm fine, but all he can manage to tell me is that I'm full of bull shit."

"I don't see a gun to your head." I ventured. Bobby Singer had told me a little bit about Dean Winchester, and honestly, the little he told me made me wonder why the young man was still standing, much less able to say that he's fine.

Dean chuffed and blessed me with a look, his green eyes holding so much weight that they were almost oppressive to look at. "I thought you knew Bobby Singer."

I smiled. It was true, it was very difficult to tell Bobby Singer no, about anything. "Touché."

Dean gave a small smile and turned back to the window, readjusted his arms in their defensive posture. "I promised him that I'd stay for the hour, but I didn't promise that I'd talk."

"It would stand to reason that he didn't send you here simply to partake of the view."

"Yeah, well, he can want me to talk all he wants. It ain't like I'm wasting his money or anything." It was true, I helped Hunters in my off hours for free. Back in the day I had been saved by Bobby Singer from a rather vengeful ghost. And when someone is saved by one of the men or women who hunted the things in the dark, you wanted to repay them, and often times it was damn near impossible to pay them no matter how strapped they were for cash. But you could barter. So, I bartered my services with Bobby Singer, and from time to time he sent me someone who really needed the help, and he'd been telling me about Dean and Sam for years, and this was the first time he had finally been able to get one of them to come, and it looked as if it had been more of a threat than a simple request.

"You bend a lot to the will of the ones you care for don't you?" Dean was silent, but the silence was thick and heavy.

"I respect the people I care for." He said guardedly.

"So, that's why you came today. Because you respect what Bobby says."

Dean turned, eyes narrowed. "Next, you're going to say that if I respect Bobby so much then I should talk to you, because that's what Bobby meant for me to do." I didn't say anything, I just simply watched him, men like Dean Winchester needed to be handled carefully, you couldn't push too hard, couldn't come at too fast. They reacted like a scared wild animal, their fight or flight response immediately activated, and neither reaction ended well. Dean threw his hands up and took a couple of measured steps towards me. It took all of my will power to sit still and not look as if his sudden movement startled me. I couldn't let him sense any weakness on my part, or he would never trust me.

Dean sighed. "I don't know what the hell he expected. He just said 'boy you ain't fine, you are going to go see Dr. Baily.'" Dean said in his best Bobby impression, and I had to admit it was pretty accurate. I smiled. Dean's face fell from one of amusement to one of thoughtful reflection and then said, "Bobby doesn't give many orders."

"Does that make a difference?" I asked cautiously. Dean shrugged and stepped back to the window and looked back out into the night. "What significance does an order have for you?" I waited patiently for a response. I was about to give up this line of questioning, try a different tact when he said:

"My dad gave orders." His voice was low and sad.

I paused and waited for more of an answer, and when one didn't come I followed up with, "Did you follow them? The orders?"

"I did." Dead end. This was going to be like trying to crack a coconut with a potato peeler.

"Tell me about your dad." I said, I had a feeling that his dad was the key to this.

He laughed. "Why should I tell you about my dad? I know I have daddy issues. Enough fugly bastards have said it to my face." He shook his head. "Why should I tell you about my dad? So you can say I'm screwed up because of my dad? Hell yeah I'm screwed up because of my dad! But me telling you about it won't fix it! It won't bring him back! It won't make this…" he reached and struggled for the words and finally rested on "disaster that is my life any better!"

He was looking at me now, eyes searching my face, my eyes for something. "It won't change your circumstances Dean. It won't change the events that have happened in your life, nor will it change what is currently going on in your life…"

"Then what's the point?" Dean asked hotly.

"It might change how you look at things. It might help ease some of the burden on your shoulders, make your load lighter."

"What a load of crap." He said after a few minutes of silence. He turned to face me. "That I a load of horse shit and you know it."

"Do I?"

"Oh please. Don't go all reverse psychology on me. I may not have some fancy degree from…" He looked at my degrees hanging above my desk, "University of South Dakota, but I'm not stupid. I know when I'm being played."

"I'm not playing you Dean."

"Whatever." He reached for his coat and started for the door.

"We still have 20 minutes. You promised Bobby you'd stay for an hour." That stopped Dean in his tracks, hand just hovering above the door knob. He was thinking, he wanted to leave, but a promise made to a friend trumped his personal needs and wants. That was an interesting fact to discover.

He turned back to me, a fearsome expression in his eyes, he threw down his coat, he went back to his spot in front of the window, folded his arms once more.

"Giving your word to someone means something to you." I stated hoping that would open a new line of communication.

"Doesn't it to you?"

"Yes. But I don't think I'd stay somewhere that made me as uncomfortable and uneasy as this place does for you."

"Bobby's more than my friend. He's like family."

"And when a family member asks something of you, you do it?"

"Yeah. Doesn't everyone?"

"No." I said more quickly than I had wanted. Dean sensed the speed had weight behind it and he turned.

"Don't like your family?" He asked.

"I love my family." I smiled sadly. "They just don't like me much." Dean came closer rested his elbows on the chair in front of him.

"Why?"

"Oh, lots of reasons."

"My brother thought that we quit loving him when he up and left us."

"What do you mean?"

Dean shrugged. "He left for college, created a big to do in our family, and we didn't speak for four years. He told me a couple of years back, that he didn't call because he didn't think we loved him anymore." Dean looked down at his watch and then back at me. "Times about up." he put his coat on. "Think about that Doc." He popped the collar on his coat. "Can I go?" Startled I looked down at my own timer.

"Yeah, yeah. Your time is up." I put my professional mask back into place, sucked in a breath and asked, "Will you come back next week?" Dean shrugged and left closing the door softly behind him.


	2. Chapter 2

Session 2-Dean

"Dr. Baily, a Michael Swords has been added to your schedule tonight." Amanda my receptionist said as I was headed back towards my office after lunch. I stopped in my tracks and gave her a quizzical look, I hadn't heard that particular name come up before.

"Is he a new patient?"

"No. Says that he met with you a week or so ago. Had a real sexy voice. Shame he's…" She lowered her voice to a whisper and said "nuts." She shook her head and sighed. "All the good ones are either gay or just plain crazy."

"Amanda…" I warned with a smile.

"I know I know." She raised her hands in a defensive gesture, pink fingernails glinting in the fluorescent lights. "They just need help…they aren't nuts." I stifled a smile and the repetition of my previous words.

I went into my office and sat down, I wondered who Bobby could be sending to me now.

SNSNSNSNSNSNSN

The sun had fallen and the night had enveloped my office, I sat at my desk with the lamp on working on the day's paper work and waiting for the hunter Bobby had sent me. The thing about these hunters is that they don't really follow what people in the "real" world would classify as a normal schedule. Monsters decided to eat people when they decided to eat people and they didn't give a hoot 'n holler about a schedule.

The interesting thing about it though was that hunters would show up way past their appointment time, sometimes bloodied and sometimes battered, and sometimes so broken that all they could do was sit and sob, but never once did any of them make an excuse for their tardiness, I guess it's just part of the culture.

It was getting close to nine and I needed to get home, I needed sleep, I needed to be well rested for Marsha Aimes to come in here and cry and complain about how her daughter isn't giving her children right now and how that makes her life horrible and "can't you please bring her in and talk some sense into her?" I needed to be fortified with sleep and a big breakfast in order to handle her. But I couldn't do that to the hunter who had made the appointment. I couldn't abandon the man who needed my help. If Bobby Singer had abandoned me all of those years ago because he was too tired, or had a big day ahead of him, I wouldn't be alive right now. I thought of that every single time I wanted to leave my office, every time when I was napping on my chair because it was three in the morning before the hunter arrived.

I yawned and shook my head, scrubbed at my face and ran my hands through my hair. I got up and decided to walk up and down the stairs of my building a couple of times to shake the kinks out of my legs and to get my heart going, I needed to get myself awake enough, had to be alert and on the ready.

I locked my office door but left the light on in the waiting area and took my walk, I felt wide awake and ready to go for another couple of hours when I got back up to my office, I unlocked my door turned on the lights and nearly jumped out of my skin.

Dean Winchester was standing at the window, arms crossed tightly around his chest and a smirk on his face.

"That lock won't keep anything out that wants inside. You know that don't you?"

I tried desperately to get my breathing back under control and shook my head. "No. I guess I thought if something was locked it kept everything out." I said dumbly.

"Well, that one won't keep anything out. You need a different one." He turned to face the window again.

"Did you make another appointment because you wanted to show me how ineffective my locks are?" I asked.

"No."

"You liked my view?" I asked trying to extract information out of him. I don't think God himself could get an answer out of Dean Winchester if Dean didn't want him to.

"No." Dean responded never taking his eyes from the window. "It is a pretty good one as far as views go." He added. I resisted the urge to grit my teeth, instead I took up my pen and paper and sat down in my chair.

"Then why are you here exactly?" I asked curiously. I couldn't help it, I couldn't curb it, I had to know why he came back. When Dean walked out of my door after his last appointment, I was absolutely positive that I would never see the man again, positive that he would never come with in two thousand miles of my door again.

"I lost a bet." I felt my face tangle up in confusion.

"A bet?" I asked.

"Yeah. A bet." He paused and shook his head for a moment. "I lost a damn bet and because of that I'm here wasting another hour of your time." He turned around and faced me, his smile bright and most certainly fake. "So, if you want to call Bobby Singer and tell him that I did come and stay for an hour, I'll let you go home early and I'll go hit a bar or something actually fun, and helpful." He smirked, but the smirk was so fake, so forced, that instead of inspiring the smile he was hoping, it made me sad.

"Is that how you cope?" His eyes darkened quickly.

"I cope." He turned back around, the muscles in his back tightening further.

"You cope with alcohol?"

"Who doesn't?" He asked flippantly.

"I don't." I responded gathering that from our last session that I needed to give a little of myself in order to get anything from Dean.

He swung around, "You can't tell me that you have never drank your feelings."

"I haven't."

"That's because you're a shrink." He said with a shake of his head and turned to face the window again.

"No. It isn't." 

He turned slowly this time eyes narrowed. "What is it then?"

"How often do you use alcohol to cope?" I asked.

"Uh uh doc. You don't answer a question with a question. That's rude." He smiled, and I understood how he got away with so much.

"Answer my question and I'll answer yours."

"You're playing me."

"Nope. Not playing. Just an even exchange of information."

"But this isn't how this is supposed to go." He said suspiciously.

"How is this supposed to go?" I asked innocently.

"You're supposed to ask me questions, blame my parents for the way I turned out, keep me on your couch until I cry and tell you how my life is a crying shame and so horrible."

"I must have missed that class in shrink school." I shot back. I got the impression that Dean would respond better to me being me and me not being the shrink me, and me me is sarcastic.

Dean walked closer to me as if he needed to be closer to me to ascertain whether or not I was lying, or taking him for a fool. His gaze was intense and it felt like he was staring at my soul, and I felt naked and unprotected, it took all I had not to squirm in my seat and to keep my eyes focused on his.

"What if I just like to drink?" he asked returning to my question, and testing my boundaries and my bull shit meter.

"How much do you drink?"

"Nope. Doc. You said that if I answered your question then you would answer mine." Smug bastard.

I shrugged. "My answer is a whole hell of a lot meatier than yours. I get more of an answer."

"Now, if I already had some idea of the answer, I might fall for that. But since I don't, and I can't prove it, you have to follow the rules."

Sighing, I slapped the pen down on the pad of paper and stared directly at Dean's face, slightly angry that I had to reveal this. "My dad was an alcoholic. He was drunk most of my childhood and most of my teenage years. He was a mean drunk, beat on me and my mom and sisters, that's why I never drink to cope with anything."

"You let him beat on your sisters?" he asked aghast, as if that was the only thing I had revealed.

I felt angry and my back went ram rod straight, when I heard my own voice I was surprised at how frigid my tone was. "No. I did not. I did my best to take the brunt of his anger and his brutality, but sometimes I was already down, or not home, and then my sisters got some of it."

Dean slowly came closer to me and tentatively sat down on the couch in front of me. "I drink because I don't know what else to do." He said honestly. I took a deep breath and let it out slowly.

"Do you have anyone you can talk to?" I asked trying to get back into my professional head space.

"Did you?"

"You're doing it again." I said.

"Answer me and I'll answer you."

I shook my head. "No. I had no one I could turn to. I was told never to talk about it."

"Same here. I was told, we do what we do and we shut up about it. We don't talk about it at all, under no circumstance."

"What did that do to you?" I asked.

"What did it do to you?" He asked back green eyes intense and dare I say it, compassionate. How could someone so obviously tortured be so compassionate?

"Fucked me up pretty good." I said honestly. "Ended up rebelling, doing things that were really not so good, and it took me quite a few years to get my head back on straight." I pushed hair from my face. "You?"

"Same." He thought for a moment. "Can't get close to people because of it. Got no one but Sammy and Bobby."

"What happens when you try to get close to someone?" I tried, hoping that I had given enough for Dean to let me off the hook for a few minutes.

I was lucky. He answered passing over my turn. "I've tried getting close to people, and they screw me. Every single time. I get screwed."

"What do you mean?"

"Your turn doc. I even gave you a freebe." I sighed and nodded. "What made you change?" he asked

"Pardon?"

"What made you turn your life around?"

I laughed a little and leaned forward and rested my elbows on my knees. "I hit rock bottom. My dad died, my family went to hell in a handbasket. I had to get it together to help my family."

"So your family got you through it."

"My responsibility for them got me through it."

"But you said that you don't get along."

"No, I said they don't like me much." I shrugged I tried not to think too closely about the relationship that I had with my family. "Things happen."

Dean nodded. He looked thoughtful for a while. "My brother betrayed me. Trusted a demon over me."

"Why?"

"He thought that I needed to be protected. Thought that the demon could keep me safe."

"Was he right?"

"No."

"Did you forgive him?"

"I forgave him. He's my brother. But…"

"But?"

"But I can't get over the fact that he thought I needed protected. He thought I was weak. I'm not weak."

I nodded.

"I started drinking a lot that year."

"Because your brother wasn't there?"

Dean shrugged. "He hadn't been there before."

"College?" Dean nodded. "Why was this time different?"

"He changed." Dean said slowly and looked up from his hands into my eyes. "He didn't think of me the same way…he wasn't my little brother anymore."

"What caused Sam to start trusting a demon over you?" I asked thankful that we were finally getting somewhere.

"I'm done." Dean said abruptly and headed for the door.

"Dean?" I called back. The door slammed. I stared at it long after he was gone.


	3. Chapter 3

Session—3 Dean

I was at the office way past time to go home, and it wasn't because I had hunters to help, it was the damn paperwork I had incurred in the last week. And as I sat and worked on transcribing notes and filing the notes, I found myself wishing that I had a hunter sitting in my chair revealing horrors that no one should ever have to see much less live with for the rest of their lives. But that wasn't to be my fate tonight. Tonight, I had an appointment with the filing cabinet and the computer.

I stretched the muscles in my back and stood up and rolled my neck and shoulders, grabbed my coffee cup and headed into the reception area, filled my cup and went back to my office with renewed resolve to get all of this paper work finished so I could go home and enjoy my weekend and not have to think about the things that needed to be done at the office.

"Hey doc."

I jumped at the sound of a voice that wasn't supposed to be in my office and spilled hot coffee all down the front of my blouse.

"Sorry. I didn't mean to startle you. Let me help." He said and reached for the box of tissues. I put my hands up refusing his help.

"No. No. I'm okay." I pulled at my wet shirt and started blotting the coffee from the fabric. "What are you doing here Dean? You weren't scheduled. Another bet?" I tried to make the situation light.

"No." He took off his coat and then took off the button down shirt that he had on over his t-shirt and handed it to me. "Here Get out of those wet clothes." I took the offered shirt and went to the bathroom just off of my office and traded shirts.

"You still haven't said why you are here." I pressed buttoning up the shirt that smelled of woodsy cologne and gun oil. I entered the main room again, and Dean had taken up his position in front of the window again. He watched the storm that had started a little earlier, and the lightning lit his face and then cast him back in the shadows. I took my usual seat and waited for him to speak.

"I told you last time that Sam thought I was weak."

"Right. You said that was what bothered you most."

"Yes. And then when the going got tough last time, I left. It was weak. If I don't want Sam to think I'm weak I can't act weak."

I drew my knees up to my chest and watched the emotions play across his face. I wanted to say something to soothe the pain in his eyes, but I feared that it might cheapen his feelings, might make him feel less if I gave him permission to have moments of weakness.

"You asked me what made Sam trust a demon over me.." Dean's shoulders grew tighter and he watched out the window again, keeping his body angled away from me. "I went to hell." Dean said softly. "I went to hell, and I broke."

"Broke?" I asked through the lump in my throat. The raw emotion that coursed through Dean's simple words cut through me like a knife.

"A demon, Alistair, he gave me a choice. He said that the torture would stop if I started torturing other souls." I waited. "Hell time isn't like our time. Every month is roughly 10 years. And I said no, hell no, and called him every name in the book for 30 of the 40 years I was in the pit. Then I broke. I said yes. I started hurting others."

I licked my lips and tried to find the words, and finally said, "And you told Sam?"

"Yes. I told Sam."

"And what did he say?"

"Nothing. He just kicked into high gear and followed the demon."

"And you think he started thinking you were weak because of what happened in hell?" Silence greeted me.

"I think I'm weak for what I did in Hell."

"But you were in literal hell, right?"

"Brimstone, fire, death and fear. Yeah. Literal hell."

"And you think you were weak for not standing up to the torture for longer than 30 years." I was fighting hard to keep my voice neutral. I wasn't able to endure my father beating me, on a semi regular basis, for longer than 15 years and I never considered myself weak for not being able to endure it for longer. I counted myself a survivor, counted myself as a strong person because I stood up to the man who inflicted pain. Sure I spiraled all to hell, but again, I was strong enough to survive, to come out of it and put a life together. Dean survived literal hell for 30 years and I can't fathom the tortures he suffered.

"My father survived for 100 years. He didn't break. He didn't give in and hurt others so he could be pain free."

"How do you know?"

"I was told. It was rubbed in my face actually."

"By Sam?"

Dean spun and faced me, his expression was disgusted. "No. Never. Sam would never do that to me."

"Then by who?"

"Alistair."

"Wasn't' he the one that tortured you?"

"Yes."

"Don't you think he had another agenda?"

"Doesn't make it any less true."

"What did they do to you?" Dean swallowed.

"I can't talk about it." His voice was soft.

"Can't or won't?" I asked equally as soft.

"Can't."

"Have you told anyone what they did to you?"

"No."

"Not even Sam?"

"I told him just a little bit. Just told him that they would shred me to pieces and then I'd be put back together like magic. But I haven't told him anything else."

"And because of that…he decided you were weak?"

"Yes. That's when he went whole hog into practicing with Ruby."

"Practicing?" I asked confused by the terminology.

"Drinking her blood." I pretended like that made sense as he continued to talk. "He felt like he had to protect me, like I was a child that didn't know his ass from a button, and he was keeping secrets from me. We never kept secrets from each other."

"But you are keeping a secret. You've been keeping a big secret from him since you got back from hell."

Dean turned to me. "That's different."

"How is it different? Don't you think that your brother would like to know what happened to you down there?"

"What for? What possible difference could it make for me to tell him about how I enjoyed slicing and dicing innocent souls?"

"It might help you to get it off of your soul."

Dean chuffed at my comment. "My soul is so black that getting that off of it won't even make a patch gray. No use in laying that kind of stuff on someone else."

"You afraid?"

"What?" Dean asked surprised.

"I asked if you were afraid."

"Of what?"

"Of yourself? Of someone thinking less of you? Of Sam thinking less of you?"

"No one can think any less of me than I already do." Dean ran a hand through his hair."I gotta go doc. I thought I could do this, but I can't." He said and grabbed his coat. I turned to face him.

"You can't run away every time we touch a nerve. Dean. You have to face yourself one of these days. The man in the mirror might not be the monster you make him out to be. My guess is that he'll look like one of the good guys." Dean considered my words for a moment.

"Keep your Tuesday nights free." He said finally and closed the door behind him.


	4. Chapter 4

Session 1-Sam

After my last appointment with Dean, I called Bobby Singer, and I told him that in order to help Dean I need to help Sam. I needed to talk to Sam, because Dean's well being seemed to be tied into Sam's opinion of his big brother. I'd had enough classes on codependency, and I could recognize it in Dean, but on the same token I knew that it was necessary to his lifestyle. Solo hunters would have broken under a fraction of the weight that Dean had only hinted to in our sessions, and I think the reason he has survived so long is because he's had his brother to rely on, and vice versa.

Bobby sighed when I told him that I needed to speak with Sam, and told me that while it would be easier to convince Sam to come, it would be more difficult to get Sam out of the house without Dean's watchful eye. Bobby hinted that something had happened to Sam and that it had caused Dean to be in hyper mother hen mode. I told Bobby that Dean needed to be told where Sam was going, that Sam needed to come on his own, and then remind Dean that everything he's said to me was in complete confidence, and that I wouldn't tell Dean anything.

And it must have worked because a tall shaggy haired man stood in front of me two nights later looking worn around his gentle hazel eyes.

"Hello." He said softly and he gave me a small tight smile that if I had to guess was trying to hide pain whether mental or physical I couldn't be sure until I was able to talk with him.

"Sam. Welcome." I said as warmly as I could. I opened the door wide and indicated that he should enter and sit down. He took his jacket off, sat down and laid the tan jacket on the couch beside him.

"Bobby tell you I was nuts?" Sam asked trying to look neutral.

"What?"

"Satan vision. Is he finally trying to get me committed?"

"Satan vision?" I asked confused.

Sam appraised my sincerity and then said, "You really don't know what I'm talking about?"

I shook my head and took a seat in front of him. "No. I called Bobby because I was hoping that you could help me help your brother." I said. Sam's face relaxed. The pain lines around his mouth eased and some of the tiredness left his eyes. I made a note to write down in Sam's file the phrase "Satan vision" I needed to know what that was. I was willing to bet that was something important. "I need your help."

"Anything." Sam said eagerly his eyes conveying his sincerity.

"Could you tell me about your relationship with your brother?" I asked more directly than I would ever have been with his brother.

Sam rolled his shoulder in a shrug and said, "We're brothers. We fight. We work together. We love each other." He paused eyes focused on his hands and then he looked up at me and said, "That's not what you want is it?"

I shook my head and smiled warmly. "No. That's not what I want."

Sam nodded and grew quiet again and I let him have his silence. "He went to hell for me." Well this was new information. Dean said he went to hell but he hadn't said he went for Sam.

"He went for you?"

"Yeah." Sam admitted and that admission seemed to cost him something. "I died. I trusted someone, like I always do, trusted that they would do the right thing, and they did the right thing—for themselves. And that meant a knife in the back for me. And Dean watched it. Dean saw Jake knife me, watched me die, and from what I've been able to piece together, Dean pretty much fell apart. Drank, wouldn't eat.." Sam gave a small sad laugh "and if you know my brother, not eating is just not an option especially if there is a bacon cheeseburger anywhere in the room." Sam licked his lips and looked back down at the floor, "And he went crazy. He ran to the nearest crossroads and made a deal for my life." Sam's voice grew thick with waterless tears. "He sold his soul for mine. Most people, normal people, get ten years when they sell their souls, but my brother gave his soul away for 365 days."

The sadness and pain in Sam's voice made my heart ache and it took all of me to keep my professional mask in place. He took a breath and continued. "I wasn't worth that. I wasn't worth Dean's life. I wasn't worth Hell." He whispered.

"Dean must have thought you were."

Sam gave a sad little laugh. "Of course Dean thought my life was worth it. Dean thinks he's worthless and only good as an instrument of death."

"What do you think of him?"

"I think," Sam licked his lips. "I think he's an idiot. I think he's rash, I think he's impulsive. I think he's self-indulgent. I think he's the man who raised me, I think he's the boy who gave up his childhood so I could have one, I think he's the man who wants others to be happy so much that he's willing to pay whatever price it takes to make that happen. And the price has come in the form of emotional destruction, spiritual, and physical. But he takes all of it. That's what I think of my brother."

"You think he's all of that, but you don't trust his judgment about you?" I asked cautiously. Sam stood up and went to the window his brother favored, and I was treated to the back of yet another Winchester.

"No one is worth 40 years in hell."

"Dean thinks so."

"Yeah, because he's an idiot. Because if he'd known…" Sam broke off and shook his head, shoved his hands deep in the pockets of his jeans and looked down at his feet.

"Knew what?"

Sam shook his head. "Knew what I was doing." He said weakly.

"What were you doing?" Sam couldn't speak. It was as if the words were caught in his throat and they were unable to be shook free. "What were you doing Sam?" I asked gently.

"I was practicing with Ruby." There was that phrase again. 'Practicing with Ruby.'

"What does that mean?"

"I was trying to get stronger." He said defending himself. "I was trying to be stronger so I could avenge Dean's death. I'd done everything." Sam started to cry. He looked like a sad lost boy rather than the tall strong man that had entered my office. "I'd tried to sell my own soul, but no one would take it. No demon would touch my soul. But they sure as hell didn't mind tainting it further. Making it blacker and worthless. Yeah, that was okay. Go ahead Sam, drink my blood, get stronger, it'll help catch the demon that drug your brother to hell. Dean would be proud of you, he'd be proud that you weren't just following his coat tails, he'd be proud that you took out the demon that killed him. Look at how proud dad was when Dean took out the demon that killed him and Mom."

"Your brother avenged your mother's death?"

Sam nodded and swallowed visibly. "Yeah. But he did it the right way." Sam spat and began to pace the length of the room. Where Dean was all quiet pent up nerves and stress, Sam was a live wire that needed movement, needed an outlet or else it might explode. "Dean made a clean shot right to the son of a bitch's head. Killed him." Sam turned back to me. "I just made a mess. A mess so big that it almost destroyed the world. And my actions, my way of trying to fix it, of trying to protect my brother, nearly destroyed him." Sam sat back down on the couch.

"I'm the worst brother on the planet. I wasn't worth dying for. I wasn't worth going to hell for, and I most certainly wasn't worth saving." Sam's watery hazel eyes met mine.

"Is that what you wanted to know?" he asked. I didn't have words.


	5. Chapter 5

Session 4—Dean

It was Tuesday, and I knew that Dean was due to come into my office, and I expected to play the game that we always played, I expected to sit and expectantly wait and listen to what he was going to share. I expected to watch him watch out the window, and I expected to generally get to the point where he might share something important and then ditch me. But my expectations were dashed.

Dean Winchester burst into my office as soon as regular hours were over, the sun just starting to dip over the horizon.

"So, you know how to fix it?" Dean asked bright eyed and hopeful.

"What? World hunger?" I asked sarcastically.

"No! My brother."

"Pardon?"

"Don't act stupid doc." He said and tore off his jacket and threw it on the couch. "Because you are lots of things but stupid ain't one."

That was a major compliment from Dean Winchester and I didn't take it lightly, but I'd gleaned enough of his personality to not dwell on the positive comment. I stood up from my desk and came around to stand in front of him. "What exactly was I supposed to fix?"

"Satan vision. Stop the hallucinations. Bobby said that Sam was coming here to talk to you, that you thought that maybe you could fix it." Hope filled his green eyes, and for the first time since I had met him his eyes didn't look heavy and old. They looked like the eyes of a handsome young man and I didn't want to dash that, I didn't want to burden him again, and I didn't want those worry lines to return. I sighed.

"Sam is my patient. I can't tell you what we've talked about."

"He's my brother." Dean's eyes went from hopeful to angry in less time than it took to swallow.

"Yes. But he's my patient. And I can't talk about his session any more than I can talk about your sessions with me."

"But, I'm the one who is in charge of him. I'm responsible for him."

"He's an adult Dean."

"But he's not thinking straight! He needs me."

"I agree. You are an integral part of helping him, but I can't talk to you about what goes on with me and Sam."

"You are just like the demons, the angels and everyone else! You just want to separate us. You want to isolate Sam from me and feed him things, pit him against me, and then leave when you have what you want and leave me to pick up the pieces of my brother."

"You don't really believe that Dean."

"Like hell I don't."

"You want answers, and I'd want answers too if someone in my family was having Satan vision as you call it. But I can't do that. I can't share what he told me in confidence."

Dean stared at me for a long moment, threw his hands up and sighed. "My dad used to tell me things in confidence. All it ever got me was a pissed off little brother or in a heap of shit that I didn't know how to get out of. Secrets get people nowhere."

"That's true."

"Then why are you keeping secrets from me?" His eyes were intense, and I dared not look away.

"I'm not. I'm keeping an oath."

"Oath, promise, secret…they are just different words for the same damn thing!"

"You wouldn't want me to tell Sam everything we've talked about." I said calmly. The glitter of anger didn't leave his eyes, but his eyes narrowed, and anger turned into a threat, and it took everything in me not to break and turn from him.

"That's low."

"It's the truth."

He started to pace the room like a caged tiger. "It's different."

"I don't think so."

"Sam doesn't need to know what I've told you. I'm not cracking up. I need to know what to do to make Satan go away. I need to know how to fix him."

"Sam may think the same thing about you." That stopped Dean dead in his tracks. He spun around and looked at me.

"Did he say that?"

"I can't say." Dean's hands immediately balled into fists. Dean took two angry strides to me and he looked down at me, and he was so close that I could smell his breath, could feel it.

"He's my brother." Dean said through gritted teeth. "I'm so fucking tired of being manipulated, and doing the wrong thing and getting him hurt. I need to know what to do to fix him." The air was filled with static heat and I didn't break eye contact.

"Then we need to fix you first." Dean backed down a little, eye contact never breaking, so I was privileged to see the confusion my words left behind. "You can't fix your brother when you are shattered into more pieces than can be counted. You need to have a handle on yourself, your feelings, your thoughts, before you can EVER go and try to save your brother." He broke eye contact first and looked down at his shoes.

"That won't help Sam." He said quietly.

"How do you know?"

"I just know." He looked up at me. "I've been taking care of him since I was 4 years old. I've been broken that entire time. I've helped him, saved him, taken care of him, everything since I was four, and God knows I've not been right in that entire time. So, I know that a "fixed" me isn't an integral part of helping him."

"What made you broken at age four."

"My mom died."

"That broke you so severely that you started drinking like a fish at age 4?"

"No!"

"So you were taking care of Sam, while you were just a little broken."

Dean glared at me. "Yeah. I guess so. But the point is…"

"So, what broke you again."

"I don't want to…"

"I don't care. What was the next thing that broke you?"

"This is stupid." He grabbed his coat and headed for the door. I pressed my body up against it, stopping his exit.

"No. You don't get to leave this easily today. Tell me. What was next!"

Dean got up in my face again and growled. "Get out of my way."

"No."

"I'll hurt you."

"I don't believe you would."

"I've tortured…"

"Souls in hell that were already scheduled for torture. You've never hurt an innocent person."

"How can you be sure?"

"Because you care too much about your brother." I said softly. He backed up just a little. "Now, tell me, what was the next thing that hurt you." I said with my best angry voice.

"My dad's death."

"How?"

"Demon."

"Just killed your dad?"

"No."

"Then?"

"I don't want to talk about this. I want to help Sammy."

"This will help Sammy. Tell me."

He pushed away from me and the door, and ran a hand down his mouth. "You are a sneaky, cunning…."

"Don't you dare call me a bitch. I might have to punch you." I said trying to ease the tension. Dean smiled just a quick tilt of the mouth. "What happened to your dad?"

"Sold his soul to a demon."

"He get the same year bargain you did?"

"No. He didn't get an hour."

"Then how did you know?"

"He sold his soul to save me. I was dying. I was careless, I wouldn't let Sammy take the shot that would have killed the yellow eyed demon, because I didn't want to lose dad!" He practically yelled. "But because of that. I lost him anyway, but this time it was the price of his soul, it was the price of him living in hell for 100 years, being tortured! Because I was selfish!"

"Keep talking." I said trying to entice the pain out of him.

"Then Sam died." He stood stock still, his body rigid and angry, his eyes were off in a far away place full of hurt, pain and anger. "I fucking watched my brother die in my arms. Just all loose arms and legs. Just died." Dean snapped his fingers. "Just like that. Then I went to hell shattered just about all that was left of me. Then I lost Sam again, because he went to hell, let Lucifer take over, and he sacrificed himself to clean up my mess!" Dean was shouting now. "And he's back…and he gets to have Satan vision 24/7! It's all my fault!" He screamed the last word long and loud. He turned back to me panting, wet eyes and tears streaming down his face.

"And you think you can fix Sam, when you are such a mess?" I asked gently. "Don't you think that your brother deserves someone who is okay?"

"He deserves so much more than just me." Dean said softly, his voice hitching from the tears. "He deserves a nice house, a girl, a dog, a family…he doesn't deserve to be stuck with my messed up ass day in and day out." Dean roughly wiped the tears from his eyes and he looked at me, helpless and sad. "I just want to help my brother." I put a hand to my mouth and tried not to cry.


	6. Chapter 6

Session 2-Sam

After the tempest that was Dean Winchester blew in and out of my office in a whirlwind of emotions I was a little leery of seeing the younger of the two Winchester boys. One was a handful, and I was beginning to worry that two would be a nightmare. The two had more issues than I understood, and Dean especially talked in half statements and code that spanned more than one single lifetime of hurts, slights, pains, and mental abuse; and I wasn't sure if I was talented enough to crack the code. Bobby didn't send the boys to me because I was the best, he sent them to me because I was the only one who knew enough of the hunting world not to strap Sam and Dean into a strait jacket.

Truly, I want to tell them I can't see them anymore, that I'm not qualified to take on their issues. But I know there is nowhere else they can go. I'm their last and only resort to help them with their issues, and that is a daunting and stressful place to be.

Sam knocked on the door startling me from my ruminations. I tried to gather the papers on my desk into a neat pile. I'd been researching PTSD for the two of them…it's the only place I could think of to start.

"Come on in Sam." I called. He entered looking tired and worn around the edges.

"Hey doc." He said softly.

"Hey Sam…go on and take a seat." Sam nodded and did as instructed. On a most basic level he was easier to handle than Dean. He would sit when asked, he would answer questions when asked. But he was an unknown element beyond that. His pain, problems….his insanity (for a lack of a better term) was closer to the surface than his brother. And I was afraid of accidentally breaking something inside of him with my questions, breaking something that I wasn't able to put back together. And truth be told, since I know the ferocity of Dean's love and loyalty to his little brother, not to mention his obsessive need to protect his charge from any form of harm, I was a little terrified to do something that might hurt Sam and invoke his big brother's rage.

"How are you?" I asked putting my bravest smile forward. I gathered my legs into the chair and leaned forward and waited for his response.

Sam licked his lips and rubbed his palms against his jeans. "Good." He barely took a beat before asking. "How's Dean? Were you able to help him last night?" he asked hopefully.

"Your brother came in here last night asking the same question. He kept asking me if I knew away to stop the Satan vision, if I could cure Sammy. And I'm going to tell you the same thing I told your brother. I can't discuss your brother's treatment with you. I can't break his trust like that."

Sam nodded. "But, leagally, I'm the person that gets to make his medical calls if he is incapable."

"Are you suggesting that your brother is incapable?" I asked slowly.

"I don't know. What do you think?" Ahhhh Sam was the sly one of the two. Dean was direct, blunt, almost to a scary degree, but Sam gave you all of the pretense of innocence and encouraged you to see him as nonthreatening. But I could see that he knew how to work people over.

"I can't answer that. But definitely good try."

Sam smiled. "I had to try." The smile blinked out. "But is he okay?"

"What do you think?" Sam sighed and shook his head.

"Throwing questions back at me in an attempt to analyze my own emotions in the context of my brother. Using my brother as a metaphor for my feelings, for my emotions, so through my answer you can analyze how I'm feeling."

"Wow. That's a lot of reading into a simple question. I simply wanted to know your thoughts. You are the closest person to him, and I just want to get a better handle on him."

"Oh." Sam said almost sheepishly.

"So, how do you think Dean is?"

"I think he's a mess. Last night he came home and went straight to the room and closed the door."

"His room?"

"No. Our room."

"You share a room?"

"We keep an eye on each other even when we sleep. Always been like that."

"You ever not slept in a room with your brother?"

"When I was at college. Jess." Sam swallowed and looked down at his fingers. "When Jessica was still alive."

"Who is Jessica?"

Sam swallowed hard. Obviously Jessica was a sore subject. "Who was she Sam?" I repeated.

He looked at me through hair and I wanted to reach out and push it from his face. But I didn't. I had to keep my professional veneer intact. I waited instead. "She…she was the love of my life. I met her in college." He laughed softly, it was sad and pained. "Met her in my economics class. She asked to borrow a pen. Hers broke. She had ink everywhere. On her hands, on her top, her jeans, her hair, her face. Just everywhere. So, I gave her a pen and my handkerchief. Dean always insisted we keep one in our pockets. 'you never know when you'll have to mop up blood Sammy.' " Sam said giving me his best Dean impersonation, and it was pretty spot on actually.

"But she took both and cleaned herself up the best he could. We fell in love. I was going to marry her. Then Dean came. Dad was missing, and he needed help. I went. I left Jessica unprotected, and when I came back…" he choked up for a second but finally found the courage to finish. "When I came back the son of a bitch demon killed her. Just like he killed my mother."

"Do you blame Dean?'

Sam shook his head quickly. Pushed hair away from his face. "No. No. I don't blame my brother. He needed my help. I can't blame him for needing help. Dean doesn't ask for it, so when he does…" Sam trailed off and continued to fidget and watch his hands.

"Then who do you blame?"

His head came up and he looked at me for a moment. "Who says I blame anyone?"

"Your posture tells me you blame someone. If not Dean, then who?" Sam was silent for a long while and then I finally prodded. "Your dad? Do you blame your dad for your girlfriend's death?"

"No. I want to. I would really like to blame that son of a bitch." Rage bubbled to the surface. I didn't know Sam was capable of such spontaneous rage, I knew that his brother could but his personality lent itself to quick anger. Sam's anger was almost frightening. "But I can't." He said more calmly, and I could see that it had cost Sam something to tone down his anger. "I can't blame Dad. He was just being his self centered self. You know, the whole frog and scorpion story." I nodded.

"Then who do you blame Sam?"

"I blame myself." He said softly. "I should have protected her. Told her about this life. Given her the tools to hold something off until I got there, until I could do something to save her. But I wanted normal, I didn't want her to know who I really was. Didn't want her to know the things that I had killed, or the horrors I had seen. I didn't want her to be a part of that life. And because I did that. She died. She died horribly, painfully, and unmercifully." He pulled his hair away from his face severely. "Everyone dies because of me. I don't do a very good job of protecting anyone. I can't keep people safe."

"Are you talking about Dean?" I guessed.

Sam nodded. "Like I told you last time…I couldn't protect him, I couldn't stop him from going to hell, I can't protect him, I can't help him. I'm just.."

"Human." I suppliled. "You are simply human. And that's okay Sam."

"But being human means that those I love die. How is that okay?"

I was left speechless. I didn't have an answer. It was my turn to fail.


End file.
